


A Long Way

by FrangipaniFlower



Category: Homeland
Genre: Cookies, F/M, Missing Scenes, PTSD, food cans, head canon, hug, season 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9221228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: A Series of S6 One Shots. One per episode. That's the plan.NEW Chapter 5: a missing scene after 6.07 - Carrie reaches out to Quinn.





	1. Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laure001](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laure001/gifts), [Zeffy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeffy/gifts).



So here he is. Kept in the basement. She feels guilty enough to take him here, after her stubborn blocking his way nearly caused him a move to the closed ward, but draws a strict line by putting him here. Outside of her life.

They aren't friends. They never have been, actually. Some long time ago there's been, yeah, well, fuck you Carrie, just fuck you.

So he's not allowed to even see her place, not allowed to see her daughter, and why should he, just looking at him might put the kid at danger, she was quite clear about that. The thing is, he doesn't care. He doesn't want to see where she lives. Or meet the kid. Or have a chat. Or whatever. Why would he?

Talking never worked for them. And certainly not since that happened.

Oh, she tried. Like she swallowed a fucking audio tape.

_Quinn, how are you?_

_Quinn, you have to try._

_Quinn, you'll get better._

_Quinn, you have to go to your limits and beyond._

_Quinn, I know if there's anyone who can do this it's you._

_Quinn, talk to me._

_Quinn, listen to me._

The fuck, Carrie. Just go and leave me alone and let me -

Just now he's sitting in her garden appartment. Stealing her potential rent. Because he can't pay. He said he could but he can't. He spent this week's checque with the girls, can't remember their names, the redhead and the blonde one, the redhead sucked his dick. Last week it's been the blonde who went down on him, in the car. He got her as a freebie, courtesy of the house, as Tommy owed him a line and was lare and out of change. So the blonde. What the fuck was her name? Anyway. She was better than the ginger. More engaged. At least pretending. Or maybe he just likes blonde better than red. Having had a shower the day before might have helped.

He doesn't know. There's a lot he forgot and keeps forgetting. Which is probably good.

Back to budget restrictions. He knows he should have money. Money's never been an issue. The CIA is not overly generous but as far as he remembers he's always cultivated a frugal life style. So there should be money. Just that he can't remember his bank account. And she won't give him a credit card or anything like that. He could get one himself probably, it's not that he is legally incapacitated.

It's funny how all these words are in his head but how he sometimes can't get them out. Funny. Or frustrating. Fucking frustrating. But who cares?

Money. But that would require an ID and he does not have one. Although it probably is in the folder Carrie got this afternoon.

Now as he thinks about it, a new account won't do the trick, it would be as fucking empty as his pocket.

Too much hassle to care about money.

He'll pay her next week with the next checque.

He knows he won't. As soon as he has it he'll use it for drugs. He's a fucking addict, a hophead. She's right not to let him near her daughter.

So she brought him here, put him in her Carrie 2.0 brownstone basement while she's having her life upstairs.

There's a crack in the ceiling. It moves. He knows there's no wallpaper but he liked annoying her. Although she looked more worried than annoyed. He hates that look. Pity, guilt, worries, annoyance, exasperation, that's what he gets.

Carrie playing patient is the worst.

_Talk to me for a minute._

He wants to make her yell, to lose her temper, to be honest and to admit it. He's a goner. He knows it and she knows it.

Because this is bullshit, this kindergarden teacher attitude.

Even when she found him in the drug den slash knocking shop, he hadn't been able to figure out which was madam receptionist's main business, she was so fucking calm and determined. Checking if he was okay, and the reminder not to forget about his fucking shoes and fucking pants, and then giving him the silent treatment in the car.

Where was that pretty redhead when he needed a little support? And that blond chick? And the madam of the house? Why did they let her in? And why did she knew where to look for him in the first place? Fuck you Clarence.

He can't remember what  happened after he'd emptied himself over the carrot top, she  pulled back too soon and it was mediocre, he remembers that, but then... no fucking clue. Just a major headache and some coagulated blood in his hair and on his temple.

And then next thing, her voice, cutting through the fog again.

And of course he woke up. Of course he got dressed and followed her to the car. Of course he felt guilty.

The drive in silence.

And then another lecture. Ending with canceling her visits.

And he still fucking cares. That is the worst part. She still fucking gets him. With her pity, her guilt, her annoying tenacity, her being so fucking dogged. Like a dog. A terrier. Locking her jaw in his leg and he just can't shake her off.

She would not let him go so he decided to just leave. Make his move and make that decision for both of them. He curses his impatience. He should have waited for just two more minutes and she would have been gone. He could have vanished, unseen, unheard, unnoticed. But suddenly he couldn't stand it a single second longer and so he ran right into her.

He tried not to hurt her but could stand it only for so long. He needed to get out, get oxygen, get space, get away. So the security assholes saved her from a blow. Hitting a woman, yeah...

He still tastes the bitter bile on the back of his tongue, panic has made it rise.

Closed ward.

She had no right. No fucking right.

And yet it was this what made her reconsider. She didn't let him go. No. Of course not. It's Carrie Mathison. But she took him here.

So he has peace and quiet for a night. Before they'll schedule his outpatient program. He has no doubt that she'll be back next morning, seven am, or maybe around eight coz that's when her daughter leaves for school probably, armed with his meds and a list, this Carrie is a list maker, he's sure of that.

She'll write it down, his appointments and meds schedule and will pin it to the fridge. As if he would ever cast a look.

But, on a second thought, if he plays along nicely, she'll probably leave him more space. Stops the bugging. The untertone in her voice. She'll find out when he misses therapy. But that might take her a few days.

He hears her walking around upstairs. It's like she's walking on his brain. Too loud, too intense, too close. He only can stand so much of her in a day.

No Clarence around here. That'll be a problem soon. Usually he doses him up at the beginning and and the end of his shift or - when he has a day off - leaves enough for the next treatments. Half life is ten to twelve hours. With his increasing tolerance he'll soon need more.

But Carrie doesn't know he's taking daily trips to, yeah, where? Anyway, so of course she did not secure his secret stash with the emergency dose from the toilet.

So it'll get ugly quite soon. The craving will start, the sweating, the anxiety, the need.

God. Can it get any worse? Sitting in Carrie's basement and contemplating how to get his next trip?

He's so fucking angry all the time. And so fucking... scared and lost. This is the part he doesn't like to think about.

He knows that hearing Carrie upstairs does not add anything good to his already not so cheerful mood. She is walking around and maybe preparing dinner - does Carrie do such things? It is strange to imagine her cooking. But she probably wouldn't feed a four year old only with takeout.

Not having any money actually means he won't get any food too soon. And he's hungry. She can't confine him here forever, but he's gonna need some money.

She'll have money. She'll give it to him to get rid of him.

So he finally gets up and goes upstairs, that staircase should lead right to her place.

He tries to silently rehearse the sentence while he's crawling upstairs.

His brain's just fine when it comes to thinking. Uttering the words is what's not working.

He reaches the door, it's locked. He jiggles the handle but it's locked. She locked him out.

And why wouldn't she? Certainly not because he's such bag of cheerful stories.

_Let me go._

Well. That's it. He can go now. He has both the opportunity and the tools now. This is his chance. Sudden and unexpected but he can leave now. So he turns around.

  
But then the door handle jiggles. He is not doing this. It's from the other side.

The door opens.

"Hey. Sorry. I forget to ask earlier - are you hungry? There's a bowl of soup here and a cup of tea. I'll put it over there on the table and will be gone right away."

She goes downstairs, puts the tray there, waits for him to follow her and retreats towards the stairs.

"Good night, Quinn. If there's anything else you need just give me a call. I'm not much of a chef but-"

He says nothing, nobody needs his stutter anyway.

But he sits down and eats the soup, well aware that she casts a long glance from the top of the stairs before she vanishes through the door and locks it again.

 


	2. How was your day?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene in 6.02
> 
> How do Max and Quinn spend the time between Quinn's seizure and Carrie coming home late at night? What makes Quinn ask "How was your day?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized 6.03 will air tomorrow. I'm not ready for it.

Max will leave eventually. He has too. Certainly he won't sit here all night, will he? It's hard to keep the anger burning with Max just staring at him for hours. And the exhaustion, fighting the exhaustion is getting harder each minute. Usually he sleeps after a seizure. But he certainly won't sleep with Max staring at him.

So he turns on the radio again. It's his favorite pastime. Not that he has so many options available anyway. But it's... something... real... hatred poured in words, forming cadences of evil and destruction. This is real. Honest.

Nobody has been real and honest with him since... this.

What happened before? He doesn't know. They never went there in therapy. 

Well, he never went to therapy.

The nurses and therapists were professional. Washed out, tired, once caring now giving a shit professionals.

Paid for semi-friendliness. As if they would give a fuck.

Clarence maybe. He gave a fuck. When he was paid for his service. But that's at least honest. A business transaction.

She's not honest. He's been waiting for weeks now to see a crack in her attitude. To make her yell at him. Or just leave him alone. Because she can't care. It's just not an option.

Somehow she feels guilty. That's why she keeps nagging and fussing. And she's pissed that she's not gonna win this. She needs him to get better to be able to walk away. But he's not getting better so she keeps hoovering around. But she'll get it eventually.

The voice is filling the room. A hypnotizing crescendo of hate and anger.

It feels real. Not true but real. Convincing even. Dark. Seductive. Tempting.

Max is building a tower from the food cans. When it's thirteen cans high it collapses. Max gets up, collects the cans and starts over again.

He's hungry.

Twelve cans and it collapes again. 

"Give me one."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm building towers."

"I see that."

"Do you?"

"Yeah."

"I thought your were busy listening to that bullshit. Which should be forbidden. 

"Since when are you against freedom of speech?"

"You have no idea about my opinions. No idea about which side I take."

That's right.

"Yeah. Doesn't matter."

"It does matter."

He really is hungry.

"Whatever. Give me one of these."

"No. Not as long as this demagoguery is part of this conversation."

"Bravo. Standing your ground."

But he turns it off.

"You don't have to be here."

"No. But given how successful your little excursion was I'm staying. Carrie has enough on her plate."

"Carrie. Of course Carrie. Holy Carrie."

"Anyone else visiting you since you are here?"

Max doesn't even raise his voice and keeps building those fucking towers. But - Touché.

"I turned it off. I'm hungry."

"Are you?"

"Yes. Give me one of these."

"You can't open it."

"Fuck you."

"No thanks."

But he stops building that tower and takes two cans with him to the small kitchenette.

"The stove's not working. Microwave only."

"Yeah. She said that."

"Anything else she said?"

"Yeah."

"Mind sharing your wisdom?"

"You care?" Max replies while he pours beans and corned beed on two plates.

"She's pissed."

"Call it what you want. You'd be pretty fucked without her."

"Fucked? Yeah, that's what I am. Or how would you call this?", he tries to raise his arm but can't. 

Max puts one plate in the microwave and casts a long glance.

"Stubborn. Dirty. Depressed. Fucked. Yes."

"Thanks. You forgot hungry."

"Food is coming. Can you get up?"

"Don't think so."

"Sit up?"

"Yeah."

"A shower is still not an option, I guess?"

"No."

"Well then, enjoy your meal."

He eats while Max heats his own plate. His right hand works just fine so no besmirching.

"Want more?"

"Yeah."

Max collects his plate, refills it and brings it back after ninety seconds in the microwave.

"You should take two primidone now."

"Yep. And a propranolol."

"What are these for?"

"Seizure. Tremor."

"Sucks, huh?"

"I'll go with that, yes."

He switches the radio back on while Max collects the pills from upstairs.

"Turn it off."

"No."

"Turn it off. Hate incites hate. Cruelties incite more cruelties. Anger incites anger."

"Says who? Mahatma Gandhi?"

"Says Max. That's what I tell myself every single day since Islamabad. Fara's father said that. During Fara's memorial service. They won't get our hate, that's what he said. Because Fara believed in benignity and love. That's what he said. He died last year. But I still hear those words."

Fara. He hasn't thought of her for quite a while. Fara. And Max. In Islamabad.

He turns the radio off.

Max has brought the Elavil as well so Carrie has left him a list with his prescriptions. 

And yes, she has, because Max even knows what it's for.

"You should take these unless you wanna finish the day with a migraine or a panic attack."

"You know what's funny? These, the Elavils, they do cause seizures. Isn't that fucked up?"

"That's why you need to take the Primidone."

Max places them all on a saucer, gets a glass of water and puts both on his nightstand.

"You think you can call me to collect you when you do your next trip to see your... girlfriend? She shouldn't have to do this."

So Carrie told him.

 

"I'll let you know. Wanna come with?"

"No."

Max collects the plates and washes them in the sink.

Quinn's asleep when he comes back. But the saucer is empty and so is the glass.

So Max opens the window, he really needs some fresh air, and sits down to read his book until he hears Carrie upstairs.

 

\------------

He sleeps until it's dark. Max is not there anymore. He's alone. 

He doesn't turn the radio on.

Tries to remember things. It's all so fucking blurred. His memory is not half as fucked as he wished it was. It's all there. More or less. 

Hate incites hate.

He hears steps on the stairs. Carrie's steps. The ones he'd always recognize.

So he turns around. There she is. He'll try.

 

"How was your day?"


	3. Food in Cans or I Don't Need a Babysitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set the afternoon afternoon after Carrie's "my daughter my house"-sentence. Quinn's back from Tommy, Carrie is coming home early, because she figured they have to talk. Wouldn't that be great?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Zeffy.

"I don't need a babysitter."

The sentence stucks with her and keeps reappearing in her toughts. On her way to work, after she's coming back from Sekou, even when she's listening to the intel that'll help her to nail Conlin. She pushes it away, Sekou and Reda deserve her full attention.

She's been determined to make this work, her partnership with Reda. But this case... Conlin's bullshit... the agressive angry and naïve kid Sekou still is... it rubs her in a way which is thrill of the chase. And yet not good.

She thinks about Quinn again. That moment in the morning.

So she finally takes a deep breath, collects her files and asks Tricia to let Reda know she has a meeting. Two hours til Franny will be home. Latisha usually goes directly to school and is not stopping by before.

She calls Max on her way.

"It's me."

"I know."

"Anything?"

"He was away for a few hours but is back now. About half an hour ago."

"Where did he go?"

"This and that. Couldn't get too close. You know that."

Max decides to forget to mention the lady who picked him up, Carrie's few terse sentences about Quinn's excursion on Monday still in his mind. And the one ten days before.

Although Quinn still looks like he could use a bath. So maybe she just took him for lunch. Or whatever.

"Max?"

"Uhm?"

"I asked if you talked to him."

"No. You said you don't want him to see me. Although I won't do this again. Listen, I'm happy to help but not as long he doesn't know I'm..."

"Yeah, Max. Got it. Sorry. I'll be there in five. Feel free to leave."

"Bye Carrie."

"Bye."

Quinn is downstairs, she hears the radio when she arrives, wondering what this is about. But there's only so much in a day she can take so this might be a discussion for another day.

He's lying on his bed when she comes downstairs, stairing out of the window. Which is still broken, but covered with a wooden board.

"Quinn."

"There's a handyman who will set in the new pane tomorrow."

"Thanks. You didn't have to-"

"Fuck Carrie", he snarls, "will you just fucking stop? I broke it. I get it fixed."

"Fine. Look at me for a moment", and after a beat, "please."

He turns but avoids her eyes.

But he sits up and takes the cup of coffee she brought downstairs for him.

"No coffee for you?"

"I thought in case you gonna throw it at me one might be enough."

He gets up, turns the radio off and hobbels to the pantry, getting the one remaining mug for her.

"You better pour it youself cause I-"

She's surprised but pours half of the coffee in the second mug.

But coffee or not - he stinks. So she buries her nose in her mug and thinks about how to venture forward.

They finish their coffee in silence.

"Quinn, I'm-"

"Carrie. Don't." There's a tone of warning in his voice. And the same vulnerability she heard and saw in the morning when he thought she'd...

"What was that dream about?"

That catches him by surprise, she can see that. He can't hide his thoughts anymore, not the way he used to, his facial expressions linger for a moment too long. It's sad to see and contemplate how much was ripped away from him. And yet she's so fucking happy that he still tries. Small steps. One forward, sometimes two back. But every now and then progress.

She can't tell him. He'd hate the thought that it's these ridiculously small steps now which make her happy.

She tries to breathe slowly.

He hasn't answered yet. But is still there, looking at her, thoughtful. She sees he is trying to phrase a thought.

"The video. I didn't know. But it's... "

"So that's what you dreamt? Quinn, that's-"

"Let me finish."

"Sorry." She's cursing her own impatience.

"Showers. I can't go in. Too much of-"  
And she gets it before he finishes the sentence.

"God. Quinn. Fuck. That's-"

He's done talking, shuffling towards the bed.

"Would you like to have a shower?"

She's surprised by how fast he turns around and the unmasked anger in his voice.

"What do you think Carrie? Think this is fun? Think I craved this", gesturing with his good hand towards his hair and his chest, "think I didn't notice how you're trying to hold your breath? Think I don't see people staring? Think I'm enough of a retard to not notice? Then I'm sorry to disappoint. I fucking notice. Each and every time."

_I don't need a babysitter._

She knows she should be treading carefully now so she takes a deep breath.

"Quinn. There's a bathtub upstairs. You could-"

"I can't Carrie", he cuts her off, "get that in your head. I can't climb into a bathtub and," noticing her expression, "don't even think about to offer to help me." He spats out the last half sentence and she thinks it's a good thing that he has no coffee mug right now.

She contemplates the situation, lets her mind wander.

And then there's an idea. A sudden spark.

So she gets up, grabs two of the cans from the counter - tomato soup and baked beans - and disappears to the bathroom. She blocks the door of the shower cubicle with the cans, steps inside and turns it on, cold, so there won't be any steam. She grabs two towels from the small shelf and places them on the toilet lid, he should be able to reach them there without too much difficulties.

Then she reemerges, blocking the bathroom door wide open with a chair. Then she takes another chair and sits on it, her back to the bathroom.

"I'm here. You can see me. Doors open. I won't go away. If you can't then don't. But if you want - give it a try."

She's not half as easy about the whole situation as she pretends. She knows that she's pulling strings she probably shouldn't. Knows that he'll do this more for her than for himself. But also hopes he might feel better afterwards. It's about small steps these days.

He looks at her, she knows he'd probably cross his arms over his chest now if he could, and then turns around and disappears to the bathroom.

"It's cold, Quinn, just so you know."

She hears him rummaging behind her back but fights the urge to offer help.

It takes a long time between the rustling of fabric and a deep inhale before she hears the sound of the running water changing. So he stepped inside.

She notices too late that she already turned but turns back immediately when she sees him under the spray from behind, using his right arm against the wall to stabilize himself.

Seconds pass. She hears the water and Quinn's breathing, ragged at first. She knows it's his fight. And yet would give anything to make it easier for him. So she sits and waits, counting seconds which grow into minutes. Finally the water stops.

She stays on her chair, hears tentative movements behind her back, Quinn cursing under his breath.

"Quinn? Want me to get fresh clothes?"

"Do I have any?"

Despite the situation, that makes her smile.

"Yeah, you do. You can choose between gray and loose and black and even looser."

She gets up and searches for his duffel. Of course he hadn't bothered to unpack it. Not that he owns much anyway.

He's sitting on the toilet lid, towel around his hips, when she knocks and steps in, clothes in her hands.

It's a strange moment and so she hands him the bundle and steps back, busying herself with cleaning the two mugs.

When he walks out of the bathroom and sits on the bed with a groan she approaches him slowly and sits next to him.

"You okay?"

He purses his lips but gives a small nod.

"Just collect your laundry in that basket in the bathroom, I have someone coming over twice a week to do it."

"I can do it myself."

"Fine. If you prefer that", but then her voice softens, "Quinn. We have to-"

"Carrie. Don't. Please."

But she has to say it. She'll never if not now.

So she covers his left hand, ignoring that he tries to pull away.

"Quinn. I'm sorry. It's just... difficult for me too. I don't know what's right. But that... that moment felt wrong... it's not who you are."

He's silent for a long moment, she feels how tense he is.

"Here's the thing, Carrie. I don't know who I am or should be."

"But you do remember what-?"

"Of course I do", he cuts her off, more exasperated than annoyed, "it's just... I can't turn back time. You can't. And this now...", he shrugs, "I don't know how-"

But he still hasn't pulled back his hand, even covers her hand with his right for a short moment.

"Mommy, Mommy, where are you?", comes Franny's voice from upstairs, "I saw your bag. I know you're here. We have cookies. Mommy?"

The moment's broken and Carrie lets go of his hand, getting up to greet Franny who jumps down the main staircase.

But she turns in the door jamb.

"Chocolate Chips are her favorites. Wanna join us?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while to find my voice for 6.03. I know I'm leaving canon here but I had to explore a road where they at least re-connect after that sentence. And - he really needs a shower.


	4. You're fourteen minutes late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene before Carrie and Franny come home late for snacktime.

Yes She said they'd be home by 4.30. 

That she was going to pick up Franny herself today and they'd come right home. At 4.30.

Invited him for coffee. 

"Mommy, it's snacktime, not just coffee," the little girl had interrupted her and turned to him, "or aren't you hungry in the afternoon?"

"Sure", he stuttered.

"I like cookies. But mom says no cookie without a healthy snack. So it's either celery or carrots. Like my rabbit. His name is Hugo."

That was yesterday. 

And here he is.

4.32. 

Waiting for them. 

He's been waiting for 4.30 all day. 

Hates himself for it. 

But it's a lifeline. 

A reason to get up and try the shower stunt alone. Even with shampoo.

Let the handyman in to fix the broken window. 

Grab some change from the jar next to Carrie's landline phone and go to the corner store and buy some cookies. 

Chocolate chips. 

Maybe they'll both smile when they see these.

Or the girl will smile. And that will make Carrie smile too. Her features soften when she is with the little person. 

He likes to that version of Carrie. 

 

4.35.

It's just two blocks she said. How can they get delayed on such a short distance?

He has to talk to her. About that man. That he is watching her. Long hours, obviously. The little pressure marks in the carpet speak volume.

He's been here today. In the house. Snooping around.

What's her work these days? He doesn't know. Not agency. Something dangerous? Why didn't she tell him? Why didn't Max tell him? Why didn't he ask?

4.39.

She said 4.30. She knows that punctuality or the lack of can be a matter of life and death. She wouldn't let him wait. Wouldn't she?

She would call. Or text. He checks his phone. Nothing. 

That man opposite the road. His threat to call the police. That was what was the final piece to convince him. He'd been sure before. But that was hard evidence. He'll tell her and she'll understand and tell him what he needs to know.

That's how they always worked. Trusting each other. She'll listen to him. He just needs to get the facts straight. Find the right words.

4.42.

What if he's too late? If his visit over there started a spiral of events and kickstarted an attack which originally had not been planned for today? If the attacker knows where Carrie lives it must have been an easy task to snoop out her routines. Follow her. Tail her. Set up a trap. Attack her. Or the little girl. Abduct her. Or worse. 

He calls her. She doesn't answer.

He curses himself for not making himself unseen when he was over there. He's so fucking out of the game.

He doesn't even know where exactly the school is. Can't even look for her.

Maybe Max does. But he hasn't Max' number.

4.44.

A car. Doors. Steps. Voices.

Thank God.

He has to tell her. Now. Right away. It's important. It's dangerous.

She has to listen to him. Right away.

He can't lose her. Not her. 

 

She's not listening. He's not getting the facts straight. Not finding the right words.

Dar. Waiting for her. Threatening her. He needs to think. Did Dar set the guy up? Or did she make enemies on all sides? His head is hurting. She's not listening. Not trusting him.

No cookies. No coffee. No time.

So he has to do it on his own.

He'll protect her, even if it's the last thing he ever does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now let's wait for 6.05 tonight.
> 
> Wanna discuss the episode or anything else about HL?
> 
> You find some awesome fellow fans and me here:  
> http://homelandstuff.livejournal.com/
> 
> Anons welcome but if you are a member (registering takes 1 min) you see all our members only spoiler posts too.


	5. Don't Let Me Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for episode 7. 
> 
> It required some handweaving, mostly because Quinn had no phone in canon. But here he does. 
> 
> I couldn't stand the horrible loneliness of Carrie and Quinn at the end of episode 7 so I had to something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For vannigoggi and johne1.

There's not much left after that horrible call with Keane. She's at the end of her rope. So she sits and cries. Considers another glass of wine. Decides against it. Holds on to hop, wonders if Franny is asleep, if she had trouble to find sleep, if she's terrified, how they'll ever recover from this, if she'll ever get another chance. Considers calling Maggie. Decides against it. It's not that she can do anything, she'd just be all over her with her inquisitiory asks and would fly to the States first thing in the morning, coming to New York, being at risk herself. There's no one left. Reda was clear on what her chances are. And how much depends on the inquiry. And that there's nothing she can do.

She knows she'll start a downward spiral if she's not treading carefully now. No alcohol. Upping her mood stabilizers. She has a medication scheme for a situation like this.

Alone. 

She can't stop the tears, just can't stop them. Empties the bottle of wine into the kitchen sink, throws it in the bin. It breaks and when she picks up the broken glass she cuts her left hand. It's bleeding strongly, staining the tiles and floor.

She doesn't feel the pulsating pain and when she feels it it's a welcome distraction. 

When her hand is bandaged she gets the second vial out of the cabinet. Zyprexa. The only fast working mood stabilizer. She starts with 2 mg, maybe will go to 5 tomorrow. 

She huffs a laugh about the black box warning. Diabetes, obesity and dementia are not her most urgent problems tonight.

She paces from the kitchen to the living room and Franny's room and back to the kitchen as the meds start working. It's the only mood stabilizer taking away the edges of anxiety and agitation within minutes, twenty or thirty maybe. And it does. It does help. 2 mg's not much, probably not enough but she needs to be awake and functioning.

She's finally managed to stop the violent sobbing. 

She's alone in this. Franny has no one but her. She owes her daughter to not fuck this up. To make it through the night somehow sane. Somehow.

It hurts so much. 

Everything hurts so much.

The thought is at the back of her mind for a while before she finally acknowledges its presence.

It's the only thing that makes sense. Somehow. It can't get worse tonight, can it?

So she dials. Against all odds. A fleeting image of herself dialing a disconnected number. But tonight the number's connected. She hears the free line signal. Wonders where he is after Bellevue informed her he's no longer there, this morning, and she never has been able today to spend a single thought on it.

It takes long, too long. No voicemail. He never had one. Always answered his phone. So she waits. 

"Yeah."

Fucking finally.

"Quinn. It's me. Carrie."

"I know." Reluctantly. He hates to admit it.

"Quinn. I-"

She doesn't know why she thought she could do this. Why she thought she could manage to talk about Franny and the whole fucked up sitution without tears. It breaks him, of course it does.

"W-what ha-happened?"

"They took Franny."

"Wh-who is th-they?"

"CPS. Yesterday. I lost in court today. Because I'm bipolar. And a risk to Franny."

She's crying. He hears her voice breaking and her surpressed sobs.

"LIsten Carrie, I'm s-sorry b-but-"

"No Quinn. I don't want to fight. I can't. Not. I just wanted - I - just forget about it, okay?"

"N-no. I- wanna come here? T-talk? Tell me?"

"Where's 'here'?"

He gives her the location. Not without telling her to be careful.

She leaves the house via the basement, takes a cab, gets off again two blocks away, comes back to her street, takes her car, and drives to the nearest village. There she spends half an hour at the one diner, checking the back entrance twice. Only then she decides nobody followed her and takes the gravel road down to the lake.

He said he'd wait outside.

And there he is. He looks beaten and tired.

There's a wooden chair next to his chair on the lakeside terrace so Carrie sits down.

It's peaceful. Cold and serene. Fucking cold, honestly.

"Where is she?"

"As-trid?"

"Yeah."

"Prob-probably on phone with Dar."

"She knows I'm here?"

"No, n-not yet. Let's go."

"Where?"

"A walk. She shou-shouldn't see you."

"Quinn-", Carrie wants to process but he shuts her off.

"C'mon."

He's surprisingly fast with his limp  
leg and Carrie follows him to the neighbor's property where they find a similar lakeside terrace with similar chairs. When she sits down, he puts the blanket in her lap and sits down himself.

Gratefully she wraps the blanket around her shoulders, briefly wondering if he isn't cold now.

"T-tell me."

And so she does. Tells him everything. From the moment Beth called to the conversation at Franny's school, then her visit to CPS' office, the hearing, what Reda said, even her phone call with Elisabeth. She manages not to cry for most of it but when she recalls the hearing and what the judge said - and how Reda looked at her when her bipolarity was suddenly exploited - then she can't stop the tears from falling.

Quinn doesn't say anything. She doesn't know what she expected. Doesn't even know why she came here or called him. He probably still thinks she's collaborating with the FBI. 

It's when she talks about Franny, wonders how Franny must have felt tonight, alone in bed in a stranger's house, not even a chance to understand why her mom's not coming to see her, why she, her mom, is not making it right again, why she's not coming to get her, and that she's not at least having her bunny with her and that she needs him to go go bed - it's then when Quinn suddenly gets up and demolishes the wooden chair with three measured kicks and lets a choked groan.

"Quinn. I- what the fuck. I mean-"

But whatever it was it seems to be evaporated now. He's calm now. Relatively at least, and sits down on the other chair to her left.

"Carrie. I- I just can't... this is diff-difficult for me", she can see and hear how he's fighting for the words, "but what's im-important for Franny is th-this: She know you l-love her. She knows her m-mom's there, w-w-waiting for her, d-doing everything to g-g-get her back. She knows. You did th-that. She knows her mom l-loves her."

Carrie can't hold the tears back, they just flow. 

And it's okay. It's Quinn. It doesn't matter. 

He gets up once, it's painful to watch because he has difficulties to get into a standing position from the low recliner. But when he finally manages he closes the distance to her and unfolds the blanket with his healthy hand and clumsily puts it around her shoulders again.

Carrie hasn't even noticed yet that she's shaking.

When he's seated again she looks at him but he turns away and looks out to the water so she can't make his eyes.

But she thinks she has to try because there might not be another chance.

"You've been there. Foster system. Haven't you?"

"Yeah."

"Nobody came, right?"

"Right. Just Dar."

"Today?"

"Y-yes. Th-that too. But back then,  
too."

"All those years?"

"Y-yeah. 24 years. And I never- even now... I- f-fuck."

"Quinn. We don't need to talk about it. Not now. Not today. But if you want to -"

"F-fuck no."

"That bad?"

"W-worse. Carrie. M-much worse."

Carrie looks at the man next to her, his profile in the dark, and sees a telltale glitter in his eye. It might be a reflection from the lake.

But still she does what feels right that moment. 

Pushing her chair a bit closer and taking his hand.

Quinn inhales, slowly, and she feels his muscles tensioning, and then relaxing again. He doesn't pull his hand away and she thinks it's safe to gently squeeze it. 

He squeezes back, just a second, but he squeezes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I skipped episodes 5 and 6. Season 6 is giving me a hard time.
> 
> But this here, I just had to write it.


End file.
